


Matter of Fact

by looneymoony



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, M/M, the bunker, the world is not yet ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneymoony/pseuds/looneymoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just two nerds, building the bunker, preparing for the apocalypse and struggling emotionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matter of Fact

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written: October 25, 2015  
> Tumblr Source: http://looneymoonyreblog.tumblr.com/post/131922694106/haha-did-i-give-the-impression-that-i-was-gonna-do  
> Written in response to a prompt, as follows:  
> "Hey, if you ever need a happy fluff break from what seems to be a painful and angsty fic you got goin(which I'm excited and scared for) just write some sweet and intimate fiddauthor sharing a bed."  
> haha did i give the impression that i was gonna do a long fic?? im sorry you are mistaken. i meant to say that i tried to write a long one but failed. i dont have nearly enough patience for that. i do however have the patience to write yet another gay one-shot, especially with my “constantly crying mcgucket theory” being made canon giving me lots of motivation (i was right all along this man is eternally suffering) so anyways this one’s called "matter of fact"

“Look, I’m just saying that we should be careful.”

Fiddleford awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot, scratching his arm. Even after sweeping, the room still smelled musty and traces of dirt tickled his nose. “It’s not safe to rely on untested equipment. What if something really bad were to happen, and right when we need it most, it doesn’t work?”

“Stanford, I’m not questioning the validity of testing scientific instruments, but… well, I don’t think that a _bed_  is gonna be that unstable.”

Stanford gaped in awe, offended. “How  _dare_ you call yourself a scientist! It’s downright irresponsible to not ensure the security of our gear!”

“Just this past Tuesday, you were mocking me for putting on gloves during one of  _your_  crazy experiments.”

He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh,  _please_ , Fiddleford. A little sulfuric acid never hurt anyone.”

Fiddleford glared at him as Stanford rolled onto the tiny cot with a sigh. Glancing over, he patted the bed next to him invitingly. Fiddleford scowled, his nails digging into his palms.

“Why did you only get  _one_  bed?” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

Stanford groaned and rolled his eyes. “Because it’s a bunker,  _duh!_  There’s barely enough room for our supplies. Jeez, McGucket, don’t be such a puritan. You act like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

The taller man fumed as his face reddened. “ _College_  is a different situation. Doubling up is a financially efficient and sensible method of dorm living.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you pass me my Smez dispenser?”

The tiny bottle hit him on the head.

He popped a candy into his mouth and eyeballed Fiddleford stomping around the confined area. Testing out the  _cryogenics lab_  hadn’t been this difficult. “What are you so worried about, anyways?”

McGucket stopped, facing away from him, and didn’t say a word. Stanford furrowed his brow in confusion, but suddenly, like a blip on a heart monitor, he sensed the moment of weakness in his assistant. He sat up, chewing the inside of his mouth, and leaned against the cold wall. The room was still quiet. “Are you okay?”

He exhaled shakily, fists clenching and unclenching. He remained silent.

“If you want, we can go back into the observation lab and get some work done,” he meant for the remark to sound reassuring, but he could taste its backhanded sourness the moment it left his mouth. He saw Fiddleford shudder and he winced.

“I’d rather not,” he was barely audible, but the edge of his words was unmistakable. Finally turning towards his employer, he looked up to meet his gaze. Why did his eyes look so glassy… ?

He didn’t say anything, but scooted to the further end of the cot to make room for the other scientist to begrudgingly shuffle over and collapse face-first in a heap on the ratty old mattress with a low, guttural moan. Stanford’s heart melted as he saw him twist himself into a tiny ball and sigh. He held out the open Smez dispenser.

He didn’t notice, so he tapped him with the head of the little plastic dog. Fiddleford looked up, locking eyes with Ford for a split second, but murmured a “No, thanks,” and buried his face back into his arms.

Ford helped himself to another piece of candy, studying the man curling up below him, before ultimately sinking further against the wall and exhaling through his nose.

The stillness of the room was surprisingly only mildly awkward. Stanford felt an undefinable sense of uncomfortableness after seeing his friend so vulnerable - what had caused the outburst, he still didn’t know - but despite the slight sinking feeling in his stomach, the atmosphere wasn’t that tense. It must have been a couple hours before midnight (though it was hard to tell underground without a watch) and everything around them in the bunker seemed hushed. Even the loud mechanical whirring that usually babbled out from various machinery had lowered its volume, as if wanting everyone to hear what was about to be said. But nothing was said. There was only the sound of McGucket’s steady breathing. It was actually making him feel more relaxed. Hell, just looking at the rise and fall of his back was comforting. _What is he thinking?_

Fiddleford’s eyes flew open as he felt two arms wrap around his neck. Instinct was telling him to run away as fast as his lanky legs could carry him, but he sighed once he realized that it was just Stanford. He reluctantly obliged and allowed himself to be brought tight into the embrace.

Ford sighed through his nose, sending a chill down Fiddleford’s spine. Even with his arms slung snugly around him, he was noticeably breaking out in gooseflesh.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.

”…You know about my family, right?” he still was not reciprocating the hug.

“I know you and your wife are ‘distant’, to use your own words.”

He shifted uncomfortably, but kept his hands to himself. “I mean… you know that I have a son.”

Stanford fidgeted and bit his lip. “Y… yes. Yes, his name is Tate.”

Fiddleford took a deep breath, trembling. Above them, their gas lantern flickered. The shadows on the walls suddenly seemed much taller. He closed his eyes and was frightened to see the cold vacuum of space staring back at him. Neither of the men spoke for a few minutes. What else was there to say? 

The sound of a light sniffle prompted Stanford to pull him closer and bury his face in his peppered blonde hair.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he whispered.

Fiddleford reached up and took hold of his hands. With one last gasp, he let his heart leap into his throat. “I know.”

“I promise.”


End file.
